


Create New Folder

by thelostrocketeer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sherlock's Hard Drive, in which Sherlock is a computer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostrocketeer/pseuds/thelostrocketeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look behind. John is running after you. Good. Yell for him to keep up.</p><p>In which Sherlock is (not-literally) actually a computer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Create New Folder

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Создать новую папку](https://archiveofourown.org/works/511796) by [dzenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzenka/pseuds/dzenka)



Look behind. John is running after you. Good. Yell for him to keep up. Yells something back at you. Wind steals it away. Mental note to ask him what he said later. Climb up the ladder, vault over the railings. J.C Grubs is still in sight. He’s taking the long way. Round the bend, over fence, through Peter’s diner. ETA, 4 minutes. Consult folder: Reference Maps. Turn left, cut through alleyway, over number 23 of homeless network’s rubbish dump corner. ETA, 2 and a half minutes at most, if John can keep up.

Look behind again. John is running, still. He’s laughing. He’s laughing and his face is lit up. Laughing: joy, outward display of happiness, amusement. Good. Will need his laughter to trigger Grubs’ mental break. Guilt it out with the sound of male laughter. Jump over pile of rubbish. Grubs will confess. He loved Dean, mostly. Killed him, obvious. Look ahead, number 23 is sleeping. Prepare to leap. 3, 2, 1. Look behind, mid-leap, make sure John follows suit. He does.

Reach intersection. Stop. Catch breath. Wait for John. Oh. This would be an even better trigger. Talk to John. Tell him to wait, Grubs will arrive in half a minute. Listen carefully. Hear running. Countdown. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Grab John by his coat collar. Lean forward. Look into blue eyes, which have dilated. Fear? Shock. Both? Listen to running steps start to turn.

Lean forward, kiss John.

Turn head to ensure noses do not get squashed. Watch his blue eyes nearly pop out of his head. Stick tongue in John’s mouth. Hmm. He tastes like coconuts.

Eye Grubs out of the corner of your left eye. He’s stopped dead. Eyes wide. Starts mumbling. Start recording. Listen to Grubs confess. Good. Very good.

Release John. Thank him. Pin Grubs to the wall, tell John to call Lestrade. Case closed.

 

x

 

Run up stairs to flat. Flop into armchair. Feel elated. Listen to John climb the stairs. Watch John come in through the door. Grin. Wasn’t that an amazing chase, John? He’s looking at you. His eyes are still dilated. Odd. Pulse is oddly high as well. Artery in his neck is throbbing. Oh.

_You kissed me._

_Yes._

_You stuck your tongue into my mouth._

_Isn’t that how kissing is done?_

_You. Well. You should have warned me first._

Silly, John. Warnings take time. Would have also had to explain, and it would have taken too long. Explain this to John. Receive a curt nod. Actually look at him. He looks. Deflated. Why does he look deflated? Stress? No. Disappointment. Why? Ask.

_It’s nothing._

He’s lying. Ask again.

No reply. Watch him turn, go up to his room. Listen to his footsteps. 22 of them. Rushed. Like as if he’s running away. Consult folder: Psychology. Look up avoidance. Check diagnosis. Fear. Guilt. Shame. Anxiety. Infatuation. Melancholy. That can’t be right. Refer to memories, double check: did John do anything that would induce any of the above? No. Check back. Did you do anything that would induce any of the above? No. Odd.

Check watch. 2 A.M. Go to room. Recite periodic table. Sleep.

 

—

—

 

Open eyelids. Wait for brain to boot up. Run through folders: all intact. Listen. Smell. John is up. He’s taking a shower. Faucet is leaking. Must get that fixed. Mrs Hudson is cooking. Bacon. Crispy. Eggs. Scrambled? No, Benedict. Tea.

Sit up. Get out of bed, put on robe. Piss. Wash hands. Brush teeth. Go to living room. Check website’s forum. Nothing new. Boring. Hack John’s blog. Nothing new. Boring. Hear Mrs Hudson climb stairs. She’s carrying a tray. Two plates, and egg and a few strips of bacon each. Three cups of tea. One for herself. Watch her come into room. Thank her for breakfast. Tell her her new perfume is lovely. Compliment cooking. Watch her go into the kitchen. Listen to her tut.

Hear John coming downstairs. Look up. Watch him come into room. Smile at him. He doesn’t smile back. Looks away. Odd. He sits opposite you. Starts to eat. Watch him. Ask him how he slept.

_Fine._

Reminder: Ask John what he was saying as you were chasing J.C Grubs last week. Dismiss.

_Oh. It wa-, uh. I was asking you to bugger off._

Oh. Nothing important. File away. Drink some tea. Double check: last meal. Five days ago. Should eat. Cut some bacon. Eat. Mrs Hudson comes back. Tells you off for the dissected bats. Ignore. Watch her go back downstairs. Eat some more. Watch John eat. He’s such a messy eater. Contrary with his army-instilled neatness. He notices. Looks up. Chin set. Determined. He’s thinking. Gathering his thoughts. Eyes you.

_What?_

_You have some yolk on your chin._

Reach over to wipe it off. Feel him tense. See his Adams apple bob. Nervousness? Yes. What about. Ask if he’s okay. He down looks at your hand holding a napkin to his chin. Looks back up into your eyes.

_Nothing’s… Wrong._

Lying. Search his eyes. Pull hand back. Get up. Walk to kitchen. Check on bats. Good. Salt mummification coming along nicely. Reference case: Body found in salt mill. Name: Lillers Carver. 21. COD: Blunt force trauma. Worked at the salt mill. Last seen three months ago. No missing persons report till two weeks ago. Negligent drug addict boyfriend. No other family. No friends. Been dead since? Unknown. Her boss did it. But when.

Hear John get up. Look over. He’s clearing the table. Say thank you. He looks at you. Nods.

_No problem._

He’s been acting strange since last week. Cannot understand why. Occasionally catch him watching you. Consult folder: John’s Facial expressions. “Lost Puppy Look”, LPL. Sit at laptop. Google LPL. Read descriptions. Read causes. Betrayal. Loss. Unrequited love. Longing. For whom? Consult folder: John’s girlfriends. Sarah. Broke up because of you. Jeanette. Broke up because of you. The one with the dog. Broke up because dog died. No. Broke up because you accidentally fed dog cyanide and John sided you. Oops. Perhaps he misses Harry. No. Never been close. Rarely talk. Hasn’t called her since last month. Odd.

Consider other possibilities. The kiss? Was it that bad? Ask. Watch his eyes bulge. Like a frog being suffocated. Watch pulse on neck. Racing. Note excessive swallowing.

_No. It was okay._

Lying. Leave it for now. Go back to Work.

 

—

—

 

Pass by John’s room on the way to the attic. Hear odd noises. Stop. Listen. Sound of skin, slicked with something wet being rubbed repeatedly. Quiet moaning. Odd. Consider options. A.) Go inside. B.) Keep walking.

Option A.

Test doorknob. Locked. Pick it open. Step inside. Oh.

John is sitting on his bed. Eyes closed, head back. Legs spread. Trousers and pants around his ankles. Moaning a word that seems to start with “S”. Hands…

Oh.

He looks at you. Blue eyes widen in shock. Mouth agape. Turns red. Like a lobster.

_SHERLOCK!_

Apologisestepoutsideclosedoorwalkfastbacktolivingroomintokitchensitatexperiment/dinnertable.

Oh. Oh.

 

x

 

Oh. Oh. But how? More importantly, why?

Avoid eye contact for the next two days.

 

x

 

Wake up again. Check clock. 3 A.M. Can’t sleep again. Cannot stop thinking about John. Masturbating. Moaning. Over you. Feel odd sensations in lower abdomen. Warm and ticklish. Touch area. Warm. Feels good. Consider. Slip hand into trousers. Touch. Touch again. Rub. Oh. Finger head. Accidentally brush thumb over slit. OH.

So that’s why people do this.

 

x

 

Open eyelids. Wait for brain to boot. Run through folders: all intact. Notice that shirt is stiff. Dry semen. Your semen. Recall last night. Oh. Do it again.

Finally get out of bed. Shower. Twice. Brush teeth. Go to living room. John is waiting.

_Sherlock._

_We need to talk._

_Yes._

_A locked door. Is- uh. For privacy. And- uh. I’d like if you respected that._

_Yes, of course. I am sorry._

_Good. Good. And- uh. About the kiss._

_Yes?_

_It was a good kiss._

_Oh, uh- Thank you._

Nearly blush. Turn away. Go to room. Recite periodic table twenty-seven times. Take another three ice-cold showers.

 

—

—

 

Stop to catch breath. Wait for John to catch up. Watch him pant, eyes twinkling, face red, pleasure written on his face. Have sudden urge to kiss him. Have been having sudden urges to kiss him for the past two weeks. As he types on his laptop. As he washes the dishes. When he comes out of the shower dressed in nothing but his striped blue robe. As he’s examining a dead body. As he sits next to you in the cab.

Grip him by the shoulders and finally give in to the urge and do so. Close eyes. Concentrate. Slowly.

John tenses. Keep kissing. John moans and gives in. Kisses back. Peek through eyelashes, his eyes are closed. Good. Wrap arms around him. Feel him press into you. Moan. Run hands up and down his back. Feel him explore your back. Poke tongue to his lips. Feel it go down to groin as he moans and lets you in. Taste coconuts. Feel heart rate spike. Feel warmth in chest. Feel light headedness. Feel time stop. Note other people fading away. Record data.

The killer can wait.

 

x

 

Stumble into 221B Baker Street. Let John pull you to room. Push you on bed. Pull off coat, unbutton shirt, strip off trousers and pants. Watch him do the same. Let him straddle you. Kiss you. Touch you. He moans. Grind into him. Feel shivers. Moan. Try to keep up recording all this data. Glorious data. Feel him rub himself on you. Feel your body respond unabashedly. Lean forward, kiss his neck. Kiss his collarbones. He leans in. Arch into him. Oh. Glory. Skin. Memorise scars. Kiss puckered skin on his shoulder.

Feel him grow hard. Feel yourself grow hard. Moan. Grab his waist. Roll over on side, pull him down with you. Wrap legs around his. Touch his chest, abdomen, hip. Kiss him. Touch him. Hear him hiss. Touch again. Let him touch you. He wraps his hands around you both. Oh. You’re close. Moan his name. Yell. Bite his bottom lip. Roll on top of him. Thrust. Kiss his neck. Bite his collarbone. Feel him rub erratically. Come, yelling his name. Listen to him moan. Listen to him repeat you name like a Buddhist mantra as he comes. Feel him come on your tummy.

_Sherlocksherlocksherlocksherlocksherlock._

John.

 

X

 

Open eyelids. Wait for brain to boot. Run through folders: all intact. Turn to your right. John. Lean towards him. Kiss his forehead. Feel his eyelashes on your chin as his eyes open.

_I love you._

Smile. File data.

Create New Folder: _Love._

**Author's Note:**

> I've always liked how Sherlock describes his brain as a computer, so I imagined how it works, (based on the mind palace scene) and this is what came to me.  
> This was originally posted at my fanfiction tumblr (that URL below :) )
> 
>  
> 
> (http://andshewritesfanfiction.tumblr.com/post/17365647174/create-new-folder)


End file.
